Lyra tried to take stock, to give Lena a solid answer. Her butt was gonna bruise, was her first thought, which might make next time Avery grabbed it kinda interesting, but she wasn't gonna speak that outloud here either, haha—
Nor the thought that hit her everytime she dropped her eyes to the tea towel; that she didn't understand what this blood that'd been pouring outta her actually was. She could feel her mind inching toward inspecting that thought: saint's blood, holy blood, and it was like there was someone inside her with their hand hovering over a fire alarm and she didn't know what was gonna happen if (when?) that alarm got pulled but thought it might be something more dramatic than lying on a pavement bleeding and laughing at hilariously un-funny things.
It freaked her out, but at the same time it was like a scab just aching to be picked.
And mix that all in with every other thought that bordered on reality these days and Lyra didn't think she could say she was fine with any believability. "Kinda shook?" she admitted, balling up the damp and bloody tea towel in one hand, reaching for the glass of water with the other like a good solid drink might settle her. It didn't, but it did help wash the taste of blood outta her mouth. "Sorry— can't be a great look for any customers," she added, nervous laughter still infused in her voice, though looking round the shop it was empty, and none of the people walking past the windows were even looking in, and not one of the women looked even slightly put out. Nat was stabbing away at her hoop like scraping friends' granddaughters off the pavement was an everyday occurrence and not one she was gonna let ruffle her one bit. Oh, to be so unrufflable!